


ColdAtom Prompt Fills

by Liu



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M, Tumblr Prompts, prompt fills
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-06-09 00:10:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6881293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liu/pseuds/Liu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr prompt fills for the pairing of Ray Palmer/Leonard Snart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 'spin the bottle' kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Okay I've been getting some coldatom prompts so I felt I needed a new place to post the short ones that don't deserve to be a fic on their own XDD

“Are you actually a bunch of twelve-year-olds?” Hunter asks, not even bothering to hide his displeasure when he walks onto the Waverider, sweaty and panting and a little bloody where his split lip has dripped onto his shirt.

Len gives him a raised eyebrow and doesn’t dignify that with a response - their actions are speaking louder than words, at least Sara’s, who’s currently in Kendra’s lap, trying to determine how much quality kissing does it take to turn a 4000-year-old dedicated straight into at least bi-curious (judging by the way Kendra’s hands are twitching on Sara’s hips, it’s about forty-nine seconds’ worth).

“Hey, why d’you have to be such a stick in the mud all the time?” Jax yells, and that doesn’t buy them any favors, because Jax is still holding one of the last bottles they have, pointing the vodka at Hunter accusingly. Not that he’s wrong, about the stick-in-the-mud business; plus it was Hunter’s fault to play the Important Boss and bench almost  _all of them_  while he went to retrieve something or another from who knew where. 

They had to spend the time somehow, didn’t they?

“Did you get Jax drunk?” Raymond asks, from behind Hunter - always the teacher’s pet. Len doubts that Hunter would’ve taken even him if he didn’t have the need for Raymond’s suit, but here they are, all of them drunk, and the disapproval doesn’t really go well with tipsiness. 

“We didn’t pour anything down his throat,” Len sneers, defending Jax’s right to make his own bad decisions, even though Grey looks a little bit guilty at the accusation.

“Relax, Raymond,” the professor tells their resident Captain Morals, “we were just passing the time.”

“By attempting to start an orgy?” Hunter snaps, overly dramatic as always, and Len rolls his eyes.  
  
“Careful, you two - one would think you’re jealous of all the action you’re not getting,” he smirks, and Hunter splutters. Raymond, however, looks almost… wistful, and oh, of course, it would be just like him to actually feel bad because he wasn’t included in what he no doubt considers team-building, the dork.

Len pushes the nearest empty bottle over (on the holo-table, making Hunter wince) and twirls it around, eyes never leaving Raymond’s face. In about three seconds, Raymond realizes he’s being watched and his own eyes widen as he glances at Len - but Len is already slapping his palm over the rolling bottle, grinning because he knows exactly where the neck is pointing to.  
  
“Well, what do you know, it’s your turn, Raymond,” he drawls and pushes himself off the table, stalking the five steps to Raymond and grabbing him by the back of his neck. 

If he were honest, he’d say that he expected resistance - after all, they’re hardly on speaking terms most days, and just because they occasionally save each other’s lives doesn’t mean they’re… anything.

But Raymond’s closing his eyes even before Len’s lips touch his, and Len is definitely not drunk enough to completely forget that each action has a consequence, but it’s too late to stop the free fall now. Raymond’s lips are cool and a little dry, a sure sign that the weather has been nasty outside of the ship, and he basically folds into Len’s arms, despite being taller and considerably wider in the shoulders. He tastes like spearmint and sweat and autumn, and Len licks the taste of cold wind from his lips. There’s something irritatingly intimate about the way Raymond almost trembles when Len slides an arm around his waist, pressing his palm to the small of Raymond’s back, pulling him closer. 

When he pulls away, Raymond looks dazed, but he still gives him a tiny baby frown. It’s like watching a kitten trying to sound menacing.

“You still got Jax drunk,” Raymond sighs, and Len cannot help the smirk that curls his mouth up on one side.

“Let’s face it, this is not the worst thing you’ve caught me doing.”

“… are you quoting Iron Man at me? Also… you’re not wrong.”

“Well done on the references, Raymond - now how about you come collect your prize in the game?” 

Len can basically hear Raymond’s mind kicking into overdrive (and the embarrassed spluttering) when he saunters out of the bridge and down the hall towards his room. To this day, Len never knew that spin-the-bottle was a game one could win - but the sound of hurried footsteps that follows him is a reason enough for a really, really smug smirk and some reconsideration. 


	2. fluff/sensual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this wasn't actually a prompt. I was inspired by [this gifset](http://thatsrightbitchesigotacrossbow.tumblr.com/post/144160056449/scofield-it-was-a-thrill-at-first-wearing), particularly the second gif, and I kinda like how it turned out so I'm posting it anyway :D

Ray never thought he could feel quite so much in awe at the sight of someone’s naked back.

It’s probably the combination of the rare spectacle of Leonard Snart _not_  wrapped up head-to-toe like a sardonic Christmas present, and the even rarer spectacle of Leonard Snart in a space that is so unequivocally Ray’s that he’s surprised Len’s actually here. This apartment has been Ray’s for quite some time, way before Hunter swooped into his life and asked him to become a legend - and the view out of that window, the horizon mostly obscured by the steady glow of Star City’s guardian skyscrapers, always made Ray feel at home.

It never quite took his breath away, until now.

Len is standing at the window, his back turned to Ray and his hands braced high against the window frame, supporting his weight. His shoulders are one long stretch, muscles rising and dipping in a seemingly impossible line, and his head, slightly hunched like he’s looking down at the streets far, far below him, offers up his neck at an angle that makes Ray push the bedcovers off and stand up, as quietly as he can.

He has no doubt that Len hears him coming - that his posture does not shift in the slightest fills Ray’s lungs in a way oxygen never quite has, expands his ribcage almost to the point of pain. He will never forget the first time he touched Len: his jaw remembers in vivid purple and blue. Now, mere months later, he is allowed in - Len’s defenses do not rise when Ray stops an arm’s length away, eyes soaking in every hollow, every angle, every valley that the dimmed light fills with soft shadows. 

Len’s wearing his pants - he must have pulled them on when Ray wasn’t looking. The wide belt makes his hips look even more narrow than usual, and something about the contrast of the dark leather against the naked skin of his back makes Len look… not vulnerable, no, Len hardly ever looks that. But softer, maybe; unguarded, at the very least. It draws Ray in, so that his naked torso can copy the curve of Len’s spine, press close enough that he has a hope of leaving with the imprints of Len’s extensive tattoos on his own skin. He leans down just enough to brush his mouth, open and warm, against Len’s neck and the soft, ragged inhale he hears as a reward makes him smile. 

Len doesn’t let go of the window frame, and Ray runs his hands up his sides - he’s not ticklish, Ray has discovered that weeks ago - up the swell of his biceps, over the dimples that his elbows form, to the sinewy forearms that feel like warm steel under Ray’s touch. He feels a pang of regret, sweet and syrupy, that neither of them is twenty anymore, with stamina to fulfil the promises his fingers are making to Len’s skin, but this is good too, the closeness, the touching without any point to it other than that he wants to. His fingertips catch on the strap of the watch he gave Len some time ago and thought he’d never see on the man. But here Len is, wearing Ray’s watch and the reflection of the city lights all over his skin, and Ray cannot breathe with how much he loves him, how complicated and delicious and too much it sometimes is. 

He can hear, in his mind, the sneer and the teasing comment Len would have made a month ago. Then again, a month ago, he would not be here, in Ray’s most private space, watching the night go by, allowing Ray to stand quite so close without the added benefit of a hard-on or two. Ray settles his cheek against the curve of Len’s shoulder and slips one hand around Len’s waist, just keeping him close, palm splayed against the flat of his stomach to feel it rise and fall with every breath Len takes. He wants to mourn the loss of his equilibrium when Len lets go of the window frame with one hand - but when long, bony fingers curl between his own over Len’s stomach, he can’t find it in himself to protest.


	3. 'porn star AU'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made for coldatom week, together with a gifset (which can be found [here](http://pheuthe.tumblr.com/post/143538956542/porn-star-au-leonard-snart-or-captain-cold-as)).

Leonard Snart, or ‘Captain Cold’, as he is known in the right circles (or the wrong ones, depending on the point of view), never works with newbies.

 _Never_.

He really should’ve known better than to let that idiot Hunter talk him into doing this scene… but the guy is built and not overly cocky, so Len decides to take the plunge (metaphorically and literally) and give him a chance to prove that he can take directions - and a cock.

For some reason, the guy can’t stop referencing Star Trek during the interviews; Len decides to keep him quiet the easiest way. He kisses a little like a boy scout, like he wants candlelit dinners and white picket fences and two and a half kids, and it throws Len off balance a little bit, but he’s a professional, so he manages to move past it.

One hour later, when he’s sitting in the emergency room pressing an ice pack to his balls and another to his eye, he’s definitely reevaluating his life choices. He’s never working with newbies again. He’s never working with _Hunter_ again.

Well. At least he doesn’t have a broken clavicle, like the idiot who managed to stumble over his own stupid shirt and fall right on top of the lighting equipment.

“So that could’ve gone better,” Raymond says (yes, he introduced himself with his true name to the camera, which Len only realized when they were sitting next to each other in the emergency room, filling out the paperwork).

“You think?” he snaps, and his whole head hurts from when Raymond kneed him across the face, so he doesn’t glare particularly hard.

The guy has the presence of mind to look bashful as he sits down next to Len - because of course he got medical attention already. His arm is in a sling and Len spitefully hopes that his bones heal up all wrong, because dammit, his face was not the only place where a knee landed and if he has to have surgery on his _balls_  because of this, someone’s getting murdered.

“I guess I owe you dinner,” Raymond states and his (rather unfortunately attractive) face splits into a huge grin. He’s either doped up on pain meds or he’s this sunny all the time. Len doesn’t know what frightens him more.

“You owe me sixty bucks for that glass dildo you kicked out of my hand,” he grunts, and Raymond… just shrugs.

“Sorry? It was cold. Does Thursday night work for you?”

Len is speechless for about five seconds. How can this moron expect that Len will actually go on a date with him after the horrible disaster that was this night? Len has absolutely zero wish for a repeat performance in private, when there will be no one to drive them to the emergency room immediately (and Mick’s gonna be giving him shit for this one for _years_ , Len can hear it already).  
  
But one look at the idiot’s honest smile and the open expression on his face - one memory of those kisses, sweet and innocent and hopeful before Len purposefully turned them dirty and performance-worthy… and Len finds the words escaping his mouth before he can think twice.

“Yes. But I’m driving.”


	4. 'exes meeting after not speaking for years'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for punk-rock-yuppie on tumblr: 'exes meeting after not speaking for years'.  
> AU where Ray and Len are roughly the same age. 
> 
> WARNING for a brief mention of homophobia + Lewis being Lewis.

The first time Ray hears the name ‘Leonard Snart’ after more than two decades, he’s not paying attention. They’re discussing more important things with Oliver, such as whether or not it’s a good idea to join a mission led by someone claiming to be from the future, and so Ray is too busy defending his own position to really notice that a name from his past has come back to haunt his days.

He definitely notices Len when they all gather at the edge of the abandoned spot where they are supposed to meet Hunter, but there are other people around and Ray doesn’t know what to say, anyway, so he busies himself staring at the back of Len’s head, thinking about how weird it is that their lives, having taken vastly different paths, would end up crossing again on a mission to save the world.

Or maybe not so weird after all. Len always had that savior streak in him, at least when it came to his sister. Ray remembers his eyes, huge behind his thick, old-fashioned glasses, when he swore that he would take care of Lisa, take her away from their father and never look back. Ray still remembers the way his stomach twisted then; he ran his hand down Len’s naked, bruised back and quietly asked if Len would leave Ray behind as well.

And Len, a hundred and fifty pounds of twitchy paranoia and mistrust for the world at large, looked down at him all serious and promised that he wouldn’t. Seven months later, he was gone - that was the first time Ray’s heart knew what breaking felt like. 

Neither of them are skinny nerds anymore, though. Well, Ray supposes he’s still a nerd, deep down, and Len probably still likes Star Wars, even deeper down, but they’re both men, adults who have had lives beyond each other, who have made something out of themselves even though it isn’t what they expected at sixteen. And Ray regrets it, just a little - because Len might be taller and bulkier now, with a mean glint in his eyes and a sway in his step, but his mouth still looks just the way it did when Ray kissed him breathless under the bleachers.

He doesn’t know if Len recognizes him, or if he remembers at all; he’s twitching with the urge to ask, but there’s always someone else around. Hunter, giving orders, Professor Stein arguing about some points that Ray has made earlier, Kendra and Carter (and then, too soon, just Kendra). Rory seems to be attached to Len’s side and a tiny, jealous part of Ray’s brain reads into common intimacy between the two, the ease speaking of a long-term partnership, and Ray wonders whether Mick Rory gets to kiss Len goodnight now, whether he’s the one Len curls around when he’s feeling upset. 

So he doesn’t ask, because their shared past is not something he wants other people to know about. He doesn’t need an audience in the very likely case that Len will tell him to fuck off, that they were kids and that it didn’t matter as much as Ray thought it did.

He gets his chance out of the blue, when he walks to the kitchen one night for a glass of water and finds Len sitting at the counter, fingers wrapped around a mug and his face illuminated by the ghastly cold light of the room. 

“Don’t,” he says, before Ray can even open his mouth. He slides to the chair across from Len and raises an eyebrow, the water he originally wanted to take completely forgotten.

“Don’t what?”

“I can see that you’ve been itching for a heart-to-heart, Raymond. Ain’t gonna happen,” Len snarls. His voice has deepened in the years since Ray heard it last, grown sarcastic and drawly and icy. He shivers involuntarily, but this is the only chance he’s got so far and he refuses to let it go.

“Look, I just thought we should talk. For the sake of the team,” he clarifies and Len gives him a grimace that suggests he’s rather stab himself in the face. Ray doesn’t really understand why he’s here if it’s not to be a part of the team, to save the world - he doesn’t buy the whole criminal act, but maybe that’s just because he remembers a very different Len, a boy who had been to juvy but still cried about a dying cat. A boy who used to look at Ray like he couldn’t believe his luck. 

“Then talk,” Len snaps and Ray takes a deep breath, trying to sort through his thoughts, but they’re a jumbled mess, like always when he’s near Len. There used to be a homing beacon to guide him through the chaos - the certainty that no matter what, they would get through it together. Ray has not been that certain of anything in nearly twenty-two years, and he misses that naive conviction, especially in moments like these.

And it’s hard, thinking of something to say. He wants to ask Len to stop telling everyone how useless Ray is, but he can’t find a way to say it that wouldn’t sound childish. He wants to ask why it looks like Len hates him now - they haven’t seen each other in so long, and it’s not like it’s Ray’s fault, either.

“You left,” he says in the end, because that’s the thing that’s been weighing on his mind for the past two decades, even when he was happy with Anna, even when he still had hope for the relationship with Felicity. He kept wondering what could’ve been, and now, he feels like he can finally have his answer.

“I did,” Len shrugs, no explanations, no excuses, and Ray frowns a little, dissatisfaction carving into his stomach and making him feel a bit too empty for his liking. 

“Why?”

Len glances up and there’s hardness in his eyes that Ray’s not used to, even after days of trying to accept this new Len, the one who’s more ‘Captain Cold’ than the boy Ray used to love. 

“Wouldn’t fit into your perfect little life anyway, Boy Scout.”

Ray sighs ‘bullshit’ and Len gives him a sharp, almost surprised look. _That’s right_ , Ray thinks, just a little vindictively, _I’ve changed too_. He’s not the kid who couldn’t even say ‘butt’ without going red in the face; he’s got his own jagged edges now, and it’s satisfying to see that the master of strategy himself did not count with all of them. 

“Why did you really leave?” he asks again. “Just… tell me. I deserve that much.”

Len barks a sharp laugh that’s mocking more than anything else, and his eyes are vicious and cold when he looks at Ray again.

“ _Deserve_  it, do you? What else do you deserve, Raymond? Tell me all about it. Just the way your old man did when he walked into my life and told on me for being… oh, what did he say? I know. ‘A twisted little piece of shit’. Said I was corrupting his precious prince of a son, you know? My old man ate it all up right away, never had to think twice about a reason to teach me a lesson. This one refused to take though - still happily queer, so joke’s on him, the old bastard.”

Ray can feel his blood freeze in his veins as he stares at Len, who seems to be just as surprised at his outburst as Ray is. He glances down, like he can take back the words that just spilled out of his mouth, and Ray’s reaching across the table to take his hand - but Len jerks back from the touch, eyes burning when he glances up. It’s a warning look, anger masking the fragility that Ray can sense there; maybe Len has everyone else fooled, but Ray still _remembers_  the sensitive side of him, the side that has been hidden from nearly everyone but never from Ray.

“I didn’t know,” he whispers, even though it’s a weak excuse - he wishes he could say sorry, but it wouldn’t mean anything when it wasn’t his fault: his father always had very specific ideas about what his sons should grow up to be, and ‘gay’ was not high on his list. Ray never thought his father would be openly homophobic like that, but then, he probably never knew the man all that well. He remembers now, the impromptu trip to some mountain cottage, how he couldn’t wait to get back home to tell Len all about it, how he felt when he couldn’t find him anywhere. How he felt days, weeks later, when it became clear that Len wasn’t coming back - Ray felt betrayed then, but now that he thinks about a seventeen-year-old Len, huddled somewhere all alone, his whole body bearing marks of his father’s anger once again… he swallows hard to keep the tears at bay, but they threaten to spill anyway, hurt in his throat and burn in his nose and push him to stand up from the chair and walk around the counter to Len.

Len, who looks like a wild animal trapped and dying, who is begging with his eyes for Ray to stay where he is, but Ray doesn’t listen, not this time. His arms wrap around Len’s shoulders and the angle is all awkward, with Len still sitting, his tense shoulder digging into Ray’s chest, right where that dull ache pulses from the inside.

Len makes an attempt to push Ray away, presses a hand over his chest and tries to move, but Ray doesn’t let him, and a couple of shaky breaths later, Len is melting in his arms, just like he used to when they were still all bones and angles and childlike dreams. He doesn’t know what possesses him to press his mouth into Len’s hair, kiss him the way he used to, the way he first did back when he was still afraid to kiss another boy on the mouth but his feelings got the better of him and had to get out somehow. Len doesn’t move, but a choked-off sound spills from his lips and Ray holds him until his knees start shaking from the awkward angle.

That’s when Len pushes away for real and stands up, and Ray expects to be shoved out of Len’s way - he doesn’t expect to be grabbed and spun and pressed into the polished steel wall behind him, with an armful of criminal and a mouthful of kisses he remembers a lot more tentative.

His hands twist in Len’s shirt; Len’s fingers tangle in his hair and the sounds echoing through the small kitchen are all desperate longing and so, so many wasted years. Ray doesn’t know which one of them is responsible for those sounds, but he’s reminded of that one night they had together in Len’s basement, on a moldy old mattress in the dusty dark. They’re both sixteen again, craving each other and dreading what it all means, unable to use words because they don’t have any to explain what’s going on. And Ray knows it’s not the healthiest way to cope: that they should talk, get to know each other again, figure out how the other has changed and whether or not they still fit together the way they used to.

But Len’s long fingers curled around the base of his neck are so beautifully familiar, so close to the ghost touches he keeps dreaming of and waking up lonely and aching, that Ray thinks maybe being sensible can wait just a couple more minutes.


	5. 'Len finds out Ray has a crush on him + highschool AU'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I completely forgot about this one until someone reblogged it yesterday and it showed up in my activity feed, so... I'm posting it here as well :D  
> Prompt fill for snarkysnartes on tumblr: the prompts were “I jokingly told you that the only way I’d marry you was if you did this weird outlandish thing, and you actually did it, and I’m kind of charmed” and “Len finds out that Ray has a crush on him“.

Len’s usually the last to leave the classroom. He’s not fond of people pushing each other in a hurry to get out, so he tends to sit quietly and wait for the stampede to be over before he walks out: he’s got everything timed down to seconds, so he knows he’s got plenty of time to get to his next class, with about forty seconds to spare.

He prides himself on his observation skills - that’s why the tiny blue notebook immediately registers at the back of his brain as he gathers up his things and slings his bag over his shoulder. It’s two rows down from his usual seat, and if Len tried, he could likely picture the layout of the classroom and the seating system: but he doesn’t particularly care whose it is. He steps towards the desk and picks the notebook up, intending to give it to a teacher in his next class so that whoever left it can come retrieve it from the teachers’ lounge. It’s not that he’s a particularly nice person, but he does value education and information, so he’s not about to let someone else flunk out of the class just because they lost their notes.

A small sheet of paper falls out of the notebook and falls to the ground. Len bends down to pick it up, and he really doesn’t give a fuck what it is-

-until his own name catches his eye.

He frowns at the paper, and, yes, there it is, written in thick, decorative, three-inch letters across the middle of the page. LEONARD. Every letter is colored in, blue marker and black patterns traced over it, and he blinks, scanning the rest of the paper.

It’s basically his name, over and over again. Leonard. Len. Lenny, on a few occasions, and he frowns even more, because there’s nobody at this goddamn school who can call him Lenny and live to tell the tale.

And then he spots it. At the very bottom of the page, in tiny letters surrounded by a sloppy, lopsided heart, there it is. _Mr. Raymond Snart._

What the everloving fuck?!?! Len’s eyes go wide and he can only attribute it to the shock that he doesn’t even hear footsteps until the paper is snatched out of his hand, and he stares into the neon-red face of one Raymond Sn- PALMER. The guy looks like he’s ready to drop dead out of sheer mortification as he reaches for the notebook as well and pulls it out of Len’s slack grip before he turns on his heel and power-walks down the row of desks, his ears betraying his blush even from the back.

There’s no one to tell Len not to be a dick about it.

“So, you got a crush on me, huh?” he calls. 

Ray freezes in his tracks and even from twenty feet away, Len can see his shoulders tremble a bit. He turns back to Len, even though he doesn’t really _look_ at him - he’s kinda cute, Len has to admit that, and if he lived a different life, he might consider the guy as a possibility.

But he’s got Lisa to think of, and just a couple of months until graduation to figure out where he wants to go once he’s not legally bound to stay at their fucking awful home. He’s not even sure why he’s waiting for graduation - it’s not like the line of work he’s considering requires a diploma of any sorts. Len has a feeling it’s his cowardly way of giving himself time with his sister, with his friends, before he has to make all the hard decisions.

But he’s not gonna dig a hole for himself and start _dating,_ especially not people who are going places that aren’t the state penitentiary or a criminal den.

Palmer takes a tentative step back to Len, and then his eyes determinedly shift to hold Len’s gaze, even though he looks like he’s gonna pass out or throw up.

“Do you… um. Would you like to go out? With me? Sometime?” he stutters, voice cracking and eyes wide.

Len’s laughing, cruelly and cynically, before he can even consider the possibility of not being a total dick about it.

“A goody-two-shoes like you? No, thanks. I bet you’ve never even stolen a piece of gum in your life.”

He wouldn’t be doing Palmer any service by agreeing on a date… Len always thinks twenty steps ahead, and what he sees down that path is a night of embarrassment and possibly some sloppy groping, and then another unnecessarily difficult decision as an obstacle on his way out.

Palmer looks horrified, and Len doesn’t think that he’s the right person to comfort him. He’s done what’s best, been a total asshole, and now Palmer can move on and crush on someone who could actually be his prom date and then angst over long-distance relationships once they both move to college, or something. Len’s got no time for that… even though his heart gives an unpleasant little tinge as he passes Palmer and notices that the guy’s eyes are shinier than they were a moment ago.

It’s all for the best, in the end.

………..

He’s pretty sure Palmer’s going to avoid him like the plague until graduation. That’s what happens when someone gets their heart broken - which is why it’s such a surprise when someone slams something down on Len’s desk after class the next week, and Len looks up to Palmer’s face, eyes radiating determination over flushed cheeks.

Len glances back down at the object that rattled onto his desk. And raises an eyebrow.

“First, I don’t do drugs,” he states calmly as he looks at the little plastic bottle. “Second, I know you’re a good boy, Palmer, but even you should know that nobody gets high on vitamin supplements… for pregnant women.”

“I stole it,” the guy stage-whispers and looks around as if he’s afraid that Satan is gonna show up and drag him to the level of hell designed for pathetic kids who think that stealing in a pharmacy makes them edgy.

Len raises an eyebrow again… and then remembers their conversation from the previous week. Is the guy for real?!

“This does absolutely nothing for your street cred. Or my desire to date you. Go back to your church group, kid,” he rolls his eyes and leaves the classroom. He’s got a calculus test to focus on, not idiots who think that a bottle of vitamins will somehow change anything.

……………….

“Run, you imbecile!” Len shouts and his fingers clasp like a vice around the moron’s wrist as he drags him down the street, through tiny alleys and over fences and crates. Fortunately, Palmer’s been on the track team for years, so he gets points for running and jumping well enough… even though he’s just lost about a thousand points for being a dickwad with no brain cells or strategical thinking.

Len slams him into a wall behind the dumpsters, clamping a hand over his mouth as he hears the cops run by. Len’s heart is hammering in his chest: he could make a getaway, but he doesn’t have time to explain tactics and retreats to Palmer, and he can’t just leave the idiot here. He would _love_ to, because Palmer totally deserves all the shit he’d get into for this… but Len just can’t. And he hates that. Hates Palmer for making himself a nuisance, for giving Len a wide-eyed, terrified stare, for clutching at Len’s shoulder so desperately that the need to protect just surges up in Len and drowns out all rational thought.

The cops pass by and the shouting fades into distance. Len lowers his hand and hisses in Ray’s face.

“What were you thinking?! I told you, I’m not interested! You’ve got a comfortable life, Palmer, why the fuck did you think it was a good idea to screw that up?!”

“…because I like you?” Ray pipes up, and he sounds just as miserable as he should, upon realizing how much of an idiot he’s been. He glances down, and shit, Len just kind of wants to hug him. That happens precisely _never_ \- the only person he’s comfortable hugging in normal circumstances is Lisa. But heck, even her puppy-eyes game isn’t as strong as Palmer’s.

“You like me - so you decided to break into the liquor store?!”

“Well you said pharmacies were lame!”

“I didn’t tell you to _upgrade_ the criminal activity, for fuck’s sake!” Len hisses again and then sighs, pulling away when he realizes their faces are just inches apart. 

Ray tugs at his sleeve like he wants to keep him closer, and turns those pathetic eyes at Len again.

“I _really_ like you,” he repeats in a tiny voice. “And I thought if I could be like you-”

“You can’t,” Len interrupts harshly and slams his hand to the wall, next to Ray’s head. “Why the fuck would you even want to be like me?! You’re smart, you’re nice, you’re moderately well-off, you’re going to MIT on a scholarship, shit… if anything, _I_ should want to be like _you_! Don’t be a fucking idiot just because you want to, what? Make out with me?! Is that why you nearly got yourself arrested? Alright then,” he sneers and leans forward.

He’s not quite sure what snapped in his brain to make him reason himself into kissing Ray, but one their lips meet, his mind just gives out completely. Ray is pliant and warm against him, and he grabs the back of Len’s neck to keep him close, moans into Len’s mouth like the most pathetic, needy teenager ever (which he kind of is)…. and okay, so maybe it’s not bad. Len relaxes a little, goes from angry biting at Ray’s mouth to soft slides of lips and tongues, and it gets even better. He angles his mouth and his hips and Ray shudders against him, jaw going slack. Len kisses his jaw, his neck…

…a cat screeches somewhere nearby and Len jerks back with a frown. What the heck is he doing…? He looks at Ray, with his slick, shiny lips and his glassy eyes, and decides that it’s just completely rational to want to keep him safe from the bad, bad world out there.

“Come on,” he says softly and pushes away from the wall. “I’ll drive you home. Got a bike two blocks from here.”

Ray nods… and just as Len turns towards the end of the alley, he feels warm fingers tangle with his own.

“My parents aren’t home,” Ray mumbles and Len’s eyes go wide for a second - but his face is schooled into a neutral mask by the time he looks over his shoulder at this incredible idiot who’s holding his hand.

“I’m going away. After graduation,” he says quietly. “I can’t promise you anything beyond that.”

And he should say he can’t promise Ray anything ever, not even in the eight weeks they have left, but he can’t quite bring himself to crush Ray’s hopes like that again. Who knows what the guy would be up to - he could get himself arrested for real, since it’s improbable he’d be lucky to have Len accidentally robbing the same store twice in a row.

So really, this is a totally altruistic move, just protecting a good guy from fucking up his life… it’s got nothing to do with the way Len’s stomach twisted when they kissed, or with the way his heart thumps against his ribs when Ray gives him a blinding smile and nods, like he’ll take whatever he can have, for as long as he’s allowed to be near Len. It’s a dizzying thought, humbling, in a way, that someone would want him that much… and Len finds himself not even caring if his old man flips his shit and breaks his arm again when Len doesn’t show up home tonight.


	6. 'waking up with amnesia'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for damnstevens on tumblr: 'waking up with amnesia' AU

His head hurts. No, scratch that - everything hurts, like he has just been in a fight that didn’t go so well for him. Sitting up is a struggle and the world insists on spinning wildly for a good while. He tries to blink, to force the tiny black dots out of his vision - when it clears, his eyes go wide as he takes in his surroundings. 

The space around him looks clean, impersonal, and decidedly futuristic.

“Where the fuck am I?” he mumbles, to himself, really, but he gets an answer anyway.

“Well, I’ve been asking myself the same thing for the past… uh, a while now? I was actually hoping you could tell me, after you woke up, but… I guess that’s not happening, is it.”

He whips around at the sound of another voice - the guy in front of him looks rather sheepish and it sounds like he’s in very much the same predicament regarding this weird sci-fi-hotel room… or whatever it is. Other than sheepish, he’s also kinda hot, styled dark hair and a classically handsome face, wide shoulders in a tight shirt and legs going for miles when he scrambles off the ground. 

“Nice to meet you,” the guy says, with the sort of guileless smile that somehow makes him look like a great target for some pickpocketing (he’s not sure where the thought came from, but there it is, right after the contemplation of his attractiveness), “I’m- um…” the pretty face scrunches up for a second, and then profound disappointment and confusion set in, “I guess I forgot.”

A dozen of sarcastic remarks bloom on his tongue, but they never make it past his lips when he realizes that he can’t remember his own name either. He frowns and tries to think about it, but his head still hurts and somehow trying to recall his name - or anything, as it seems - makes it worse.

“Same here,” he grunts, and the guy gives him a blinding smile:

“Cool! I mean… awful. Well, how about I give you a name, until we remember, and you give me one too? Star Wars or Star Trek?”

He glares at the guy - what kind of a question it is when someone finds themselves in some futuristic Saw setup with a random person? - but he finds himself answering anyway.

“Wars.”

“Alright then… hmm… how about ‘Ben’?”

“I’m not that old,” he snaps, defensively, but then he can’t really remember his age either. He doesn’t have a beard, but the hair on his head technically could be all white and he wouldn’t even know. The thought sends him into a mild state of panic until he focuses on his body - it doesn’t _feel_  like the body of an old man, despite the overall soreness at the moment. 

“Well, no,” the guy shrugs, seemingly in agreement, which offers some solace at least, “but you don’t look like the Jedi type…? So no Luke, and… ‘Han’ sounds kind of… Korean out of context, so I thought-”

“So you thought you’d name me after an _older_  Jedi and it would solve your dilemma?”

The guy’s face falls, again, and it feels like kicking a puppy - churns unpleasantly in his stomach, fills him with the need to reach out and pat the guy’s impeccable hair to reassure him.

Which is ridiculous.

“I’ll take Ben,” he snaps. “You’ll be Clark. You look _exactly_  like the Superman type,” he smirks - but the joke loses a lot of its bite when the guy just gives him another of those shiny-happy smiles. 

“Alright. So, any ideas where we are, Ben?”

He shakes his head, slowly, because his vision is still a little unsteady. He gets to his feet and looks around, trying not to sway - and sure enough, there’s something that resembles a doorway. A closed doorway: but for some reason, that doesn’t feel like much of an obstacle.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs and proceeds to look for some suspicious parts of the shiny paneling that could potentially reveal a way out. “But I’m getting out of here.”

“Escape would be ill-advised in your current condition,” a voice announces and Ben nearly jumps out of his skin. It’s a female voice, sounds digitally processed, and… there’s no other person in the room, meaning someone has to be surveying them. Ben’s skin breaks out in goosebumps and he scowls, tapping on a few more panels. Current condition his ass - whatever _his condition_  is, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to wait around and find out what it _will_  be when the people who have kidnapped him come back. 

“Woah - hey, hello there? Can you help us? We don’t know how we got here. Or who we are? Hello?” Clark is saying, somewhere behind Ben’s back - when he looks around, the guy’s head is tilted upwards like he’s talking to the ceiling, which is only marginally less weird than waking up in a strange room with no recollection of who they are, so Ben lets it go and turns back to the- a-ha! - loose panel in the wall. He pulls it down and starts messing with the wires, just as the voice of the Big Brother (or, well, Sister) watching them sounds again.

“Rest assured that you will come to no harm here. Please, remain calm and wait for further instructions.”

“You know what happens when I’m told to remain calm? I don’t,” Ben snaps - and he’s bullshitting here, he has no idea what he would normally do, seeing as he doesn’t remember himself at all, but he also doesn’t feel any calmer after that disconcerting order, so he’s going out on a limb and trusting his gut. Which is telling him to get the fuck out.

His fingers work on autopilot - he doesn’t remember why he would have a multi-tool tucked away in his jacket, but apparently muscle memory did the work for him anyway as he’s currently poking at the wires with a more efficient thing than just his fingers.

“I think I can reroute this, it will save us some time,” Clark says, _very_  close to Ben’s ear, and it makes him jump, but Clark is probably right and also still hot so Ben lets it slide. More specifically, he lets Clark’s arms slide around him (a bit claustrophobic, but it makes his mind run in directions that have nothing to do with wires and a lot to do with that solid chest pressed into his back). 

Clark quickly reroutes whatever the heck he wanted to, and smiles at Ben. Up close and personal, that smile is just as blindingly bright, but also kind of sweet. Like Ben could see himself leaning right into that pretty mouth. He’s probably staring at Clark’s lips now, and Clark is turning a soft shade of pink across his defined cheekbones, but he’s not pulling away.

The door slides open with a quiet swoosh, and they both turn away from each other to stare.

“We should get the fuck out,” Ben huffs, a bit unhappy that he got no action at all - but at the same time, _escape_ , so he lets it slide and puts a firm hand on Clark’s chest, pushing him away (and what a chest it is, dammit, Ben just wants to put his hands all over that, but they have to get out before people come to… do whatever sick shit they plan to do).   
  
He half-expects a creepy, badly-lit corridor with water-stained walls and rat carcasses strewn on the floor, but it’s just more of the same futuristic shit twisting in a winding, narrow path around something-

“Wait,” Clark says, behind Ben’s back, and he really shouldn’t sound so _excited_  while they’re trying to escape certain death or at least some maiming, “is this a… spaceship?”

Ben is very much _not_ in favor of this being a spaceship, because that would mean aliens are real and they actually do kidnap humans for experiments, which is not such a great thought when one is far away from the relative safety of one’s TV set. 

But he has to give it to Clark - the probability of this being a spaceship after all rises significantly when they step out of the corridor into a large circular room with several shiny metallic seats. At least they look like they could be occupied by something human-shaped; it’s not that reassuring, in all honesty, but at least it’s empty now.

“Let’s go,” Ben snarls when Clark actually makes a move _towards_  the center of the room - and towards what looks like the captain’s, or the pilot’s, seat. “You can play Han Solo when we’re not about to be dissected, come on.”

“You really think they would hurt us?” Clark says, with the worried tone of a five-year-old who was just told that accepting candy from strange men near big unmarked vans is a _bad idea_. 

“Yes,” Ben snaps and reaches to grab Clark’s arm - it twists in his grip until their fingers are laced together, but at least the idiot’s not struggling against being pulled towards the next corridor, hopefully a way out. 

Ben’s heart speeds up as they approach what looks like a large doorway, and there’s sky out there, a beautiful night sky with stars and an owl is hooting somewhere out there, surely there can’t be owls on other weird planets, right?! Meaning they are still likely on Earth (and that is a thought Ben would not have thought he’d have, _ever_ ), and they can escape-

The view of the night sky is lost when a guy steps into the doorway, and his eyes widen when he sees Ben and Clark. Ben doesn’t wait for him to get his bearings - he looks human, but this is a fucking spaceship and Ben doesn’t give a shit about anything, all he wants is to get away from these weirdos who have kidnapped him. And Clark. He tightens his grip on Clark’s arm and turns away, just as the man in the doorway starts yelling at them to ‘wait, fucking hell, wait!’. 

They run as fast as they can, but the female voice behind them is calmly announcing directions to their pursuers and Ben knows they won’t make it far. They don’t know this ship, they don’t have any weapons, apart from Ben’s multitool that can probably make some damage, rammed into a person’s throat (assuming that person isn’t an alien without any arteries). But it’s still one lousy glorified screwdriver against what sounds like at least three, four people behind them, and when Clark stumbles, Ben knows it’s over. 

“Fuck,” he snarls - whatever happens, it’s not gonna be good, and his body’s pumping adrenaline, likely to spare him the worst of the pain. Clark looks up at him as he regains balance, big eyes and a worried expression, and Ben thinks ‘screw it’ - they’re going to die soon anyway.

He pushes Clark against the nearest (shiny, futuristic) wall and slams their mouths together. If he’s gonna die, he’s at least gonna have a nice memory as his last. Clark is too high-strung himself so he doesn’t exactly go pliant in Ben’s arms, but his hands tighten in Ben’s shirt and then one slides to the back of his neck and holds on for dear life as their tongues meet, and they are both in desperate need for air, breath coming in short gasps from the run and from the fear, but what the fuck does air even matter when they’re going to be cut up or experimented on or just fucking killed, or maybe turned into those brainwashed soldiers every sci-fi villain always has as their army?  
  
Steps come thundering from beyond the corner and Ben screws his eyes shut tight, presses closer into Clark’s human warmth, the only thing that feels even marginally safe at the moment-

“Wai- ah, fuck, so you _did_  remember?” a gruff voice asks, just as breathless.

Ben pulls away. Lets his eyes crack open, just a bit… then stares at their pursuers. There are three ‘people’ in total; a big guy who spoke, glaring at them both, a blonde woman who gives them… a smirk?! and a guy in an old-fashioned coat who crosses his arms over his chest and scowls.

“Didn’t Gideon tell you to stay put? Do you always have to cause an uproar, Mr. Snart?!”

“Who?” Ben scowls - ‘Gideon’ and ‘Snart’ don’t ring a bell at all, and he glances at Clark for a second, but he looks equally blank, so he snaps back to the three and gives them a suspicious look: “And who the fuck are you?”

“Ah. So he didn’t remember,” the blonde says, rolling her eyes. “At least the pining phase is over now.”

“Preach,” the big guy snickers for a bit and then turns his glare back to Ben and Clark: but it’s… softer, now, resigned almost. “Look, why don’t you two idiots go back to Palmer’s- to the room where you were, and we’ll get you some food.”

The blonde steps forward, and while Ben wonders if they shouldn’t keep away from her, he doesn’t feel the immediate pull in his gut to step away, so he remains in his place, trying to out-stare her. She chuckles at the bravado, probably seeing right through it, and shakes her head:

“Look, you got whammied by some future tech that temporarily messed up your brains -  you should be fine in about ten, twelve hours or so. Just… take it easy, calm down, and go back, alright?”

Ben almost jumps when he feels something warm around his hand, but it’s just Clark’s fingers, holding him tight.

“That’s exactly what alien overlords would say to keep the prisoner from giving them trouble,” Clark says, defiantly, and Ben kind of wants to kiss him again.

To shut him up, because the alien theory is sounding a lot more ridiculous and a lot less plausible when they’re standing face to face with their… ‘captors’, who look very much human. Also very much like assholes, but still, human.

“We have footage from the fight?” the blonde shrugs, and Ben tightens his hold on Clark’s hand momentarily, then nods.

“I’d like to see it.”

…

Turns out there actually _is_  a video showing them fighting some weirdly dressed people on this very ship - it’s actually a time-ship, according to Weird Coat. Ben’s gut is inclined to disrespect the guy and doubt his words, but the blonde and the big guy say the same thing, so Ben lets it go. Clark looks a bit freaked out, but he agrees, in the end, that the footage is probably not fabricated, and they are sent back- well, to a different room, since their previous one now doesn’t have a working door.

“I still don’t like this,” Clark sighs as he sits down on the (weirdly comfortable) mattress, right next to Ben. 

“If we don’t get our memories back by tomorrow, we’re getting out,” Ben promises him, and then doesn’t protest at all when Clark curls up at his side, one arm draping over Ben’s waist, knee curling over Ben’s thigh.

“Promise?” he asks, quietly, and Ben turns his head to give him a small smile (and if he indulges and runs his fingers through Clark’s hair, well, it’s not like he has anywhere else to put his hand since Clark’s decided to use his shoulder as a pillow, right?).

“Yeah. Promise.”

…

His shoulder hurts. But that problem pales in comparison to waking up in the same bed with Boy Scout, who is fucking _snuggling_  into Len’s chest like a very happy cat. Len stares into the ceiling and wonders if someone can actually shoot a bullet next time, instead of the weird memory beams.

And then, Raymond practically purrs in his sleep and stretches, his shirt halfway up his back and his half-hard dick pressing into Len’s hip, and he thinks that memory beams, from time to time, might not be all that bad.


	7. "I'm your lock screen?!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon Tumblr prompt fill: 45. “I’m your lock screen?!” - “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

The Waverider is in an uproar.  
  
Well, ‘uproar’ isn’t exactly the right word for the nervous energy floating around the ship. Mick has been sullenly eating his feelings ever since Leonard Snart appeared, alive and well (and not nearly as willing to sacrifice himself for the team as he had been the last time they saw him). Sara barks orders with an edge in her voice nobody wants to challenge, ‘Firestorm’ have been keeping to themselves for days now, and the two new members of the team, the ones who have not been there when Len gave up his life to save them, are forever confused by the reaction of the rest of the team to the appearance of a snarky asshole who seemed to have been in cahoots with the League of Doom… except not really, as it turned out.  
  
Ray… Ray isn’t exactly sure how to react. This Leonard Snart is markedly different from the man Ray used to know. Except not really: he’s the same man, minus the bonds that form among people who have faced the destruction of the world together and came out on top. This Len doesn’t know what he’s done - Sara has made an executive decision not to tell him in order not to influence his behavior, in case it would screw up the timeline somehow. Ray thought that Mick would protest: but Mick doesn’t seem to be saying much these days, anyway, so maybe he doesn’t care there’s one more thing he’s not allowed to say, among so many things he _won’t_. 

Ray wants to say it, but he recognizes the vindictiveness tinging that urge: he wants to shut Len up when he mocks Mick for turning into a ‘goody-two-shoes’, teases him about being a ‘good boy’ whenever Mick carries out an order from Sara, whenever he saves one of the team. It puts a rift between the two men, and Ray, oddly fond of Mick after the whole debacle with losing his suit (and gaining a cold gun, for a short while), Ray wants to shut Len up, wants to show him that Mick isn’t the only one who came to care about the rest of them. 

He never does, but it stirs not-so-old hurts in Ray’s chest whenever Len turns his mocking smirks to him. Len is vicious, his eyes and his tongue sharp as ever, and Ray never realized how much Len had mellowed out throughout their mission, how much he kept his sarcasm at bay because he _cared_. Ray sees it now, in stark contrast against this man who has absolutely zero inhibitions when it comes to teasing - mocking - them. Ray doesn’t know why Len agreed to stay with them: perhaps he was just bored with the Legion, tired of listening to the orders of men he did not hold in high regard.

That doesn’t explain why he’s back, with a team he doesn’t respect either, sabotaging missions as much as helping, based on however he’s feeling at that moment. 

Ray doesn’t know what to do with that. He doesn’t have a claim on Leonard Snart, regardless of… everything. Len had made it clear then, that it was just ‘stress relief’, that he wasn’t going to ‘play house’ with Ray; he soothed the sting with his lips then, with his hands, and Ray never doubted in his heart that in time, maybe, they could be… more. Different. _Real_.

Now, he stares at the only photo he has of Len, the rare occasion when Len’s eyes were lit up with genuine amusement and maybe even fondness, when his lips weren’t curled in a sneer but stretched by an actual smile. Len didn’t know Ray had the picture - he’d kept it hidden from everyone, kept it as a reminder, for days when he felt like Len chose Mick or the team or the mission before Ray, when he felt alone and hopeless. When he felt abandoned and guilty for feeling that way, guilty for the anger that bubbled up in his chest when he thought about Len’s sacrifice. He should have been grateful, but he wasn’t, he couldn’t be, not when Len wasn’t there anymore.

And now, Len’s back, but he doesn’t know anything about their secret rendezvous in the quiet corners of the ship. This Len doesn’t know how it felt to fall asleep with Ray curled around his back, he doesn’t know how well they fit together, in all the ways that mattered. And Ray doesn’t know how to tell him. All he can do is stare wistfully at the screen of his phone that holds the memories he alone remembers now.   
  
“I’m your lock screen?!”  
  
Ray startles and throws his feet off the table, whipping around with wide eyes. His heart’s racing when he meets the steely gaze that once used to turn warm for him. It’s his own fault, really - he should’ve kept that photo away from prying eyes, but really, it only ever mattered not to let _Len_  see how sentimental Ray was, how much deeper he had fallen… after Len was gone, it did not matter if anyone saw, not to Ray. He could always claim that it was to honor Len’s sacrifice, to remember him - nobody would doubt that. Probably.

Nobody but Len himself. Who now stared at Ray like he was deciding whether to mock him or punch him. Neither of which Ray can accept.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” he mutters reluctantly, and the smirk creeps back, along with Len’s raised eyebrow.

“Clearly,” he sneers. Ray pushes the phone back into his pocket - or tries to. Long fingers around his wrist stop the motion, and he looks up again. There’s something odd in Len’s eyes and Ray’s heart misses a beat.  
  
“I’ll delete it,” he lies - he doesn’t want to confront Len, doesn’t want to explain things that were never put to words before. His heart’s hammering in his chest, panic and a twisted, sick spark of hope, and Ray can’t stand this, can’t-

“Show me,” Len demands. Ray’s always been weak to that tone, that _voice_ , and he finds himself offering up his phone without protest. How come that after all this time, he still can’t say _no_  to Leonard Snart?

Len pushes the small button on the side and the screen comes alive, lending his blue eyes an eerie glow. Ray watches the angles of his face, sharp and defined in the phone’s light, and he longs to reach out, to touch and remind himself of all they had, before. But it would be cruel, seeing as they have nothing now, nothing but sneers and hurt. 

Len frowns, and his eyes rise to meet Ray’s. 

“I don’t remember this,” he barks, more of a demand than a statement. Ray shrugs.

“You can’t,” he says. “It’s not you.”

Len’s sharp intake of breath is a testimony to the man’s intelligence. He’s always been able to put two and two together, and staying on a time-traveling ship for days must bring him to the correct conclusion even now. Ray looks away, swallowing hard.

“Sure looks like me,” Len smirks, but the tinge of malice that has been coating his words since the day he showed up is gone. It makes Ray look up again, almost startled, and he’s definitely not quick enough to squash the hope that rises again like a tidal wave in his chest, washing away all caution. 

“You think?” he asks quietly, and he knows he’s asking more than that, more than confirmation about an old photo. Len must see that, _hear_  that in his voice - but the mocking Ray expects never comes.

“Hmmm,” he drawls, with that cheeky lopsided grin Ray always loved to kiss off his face - it does things to his heart he never thought he’d feel again. “Further examinations are necessary. I’ll hold on to this, in the meantime.”

He waves the phone in front of Ray’s face and then lets it disappear in the pocket of his jeans. 

“But- it’s my phone! I need it!” Ray splutters, and even though Len turns his back on him to walk away, the man’s grin is still almost palpable in the room.

“Then come get it,” Len calls over his shoulder. “You know where my room is, Raymond.”

The thrill that vibrates through Ray’s body is like nothing he’s ever felt before, and yet so familiar that his throat closes on the sheer amount of feelings threatening to burst out, probably in the form of entirely inappropriate declarations of intent. He watches Len go, knowing full well that he’s in no state to follow up on that offer right now.

But maybe, if he takes one more steadying breath, he’ll rise, leave behind the bare room and Mick’s empty beer bottles… and he’ll go get what is his. 


	8. "Look what I found!"

“Hey, babe,” Ray calls from the front door, in his sweetest, most innocent voice. There are people who believe Raymond Palmer to be a naive man… and Ray would very much like to say that those people are wrong, but the thing is, mostly, they’re not.

However, there are times when he knows just how to utilize his mastery of puppy-looks and innocent smiles to get what he wants.

And what he wants, right now, is… not what he’s getting, if the narrow-eyed look Len is giving him is any indication.

Len whips the dishtowel over his shoulder and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Look what I found,” Ray continues, just as innocently, but he can feel his resolve weaken in the face of Len’s apparent disapproval. 

Ray holds up the poor, innocent, harmless little baby (or whatever it is), and smiles. The thing lets out a low rumbling sound that Ray feels through his fingers, where they’re wrapped around what he thinks must be the belly of the beast, so to speak.

Except it’s no beast: at around two feet and thirty pounds, it looks very much like an overgrown shaggy puppy. 

If puppies came in green and with three pairs of eyes. And a twitchy row of fleshy spikes along its back that resemble a yellow rooster’s comb.

“See? It likes you,” Ray states happily when the thing rumbles again. Ray considers calling it ‘Trip’.

“Get that thing out of the house. _Now_ ,” Len snaps and Ray gives him a dejected look.  
  
“It needs a home.”

“If by ‘home’ you mean the planet it came from, yes,” Len sneers. Trip croons and opens his jaws, latching onto Ray’s fingertips with a wet, fleshy mouth.

“Oh, look! It’s a mammal!” Ray chirps, fascinated. Len obviously does not share the sentiment, because he approaches with a look that borders on murderous.

“Raymond. Get that thing _out_. You don’t know what it is.”

“I know- alright, I don’t know what it is, but Kara said it would be okay with lettuce. Nothing that eats lettuce can be dangerous, right?”

Len visibly disagrees, but before he can protest verbally (instead of just through glares and snorts), Ray yelps and pulls his hand out of Trip’s mouth.

His fingers are reddening at the tips, and Ray resists the urge to stick them in his mouth - after all, he really does not know what the chemical composition of Trip’s saliva might be.

Len looks altogether too smug when he grins.

“Did it bite you?”

“No,” Ray mumbles, glancing at the little green ball in apprehension. “It… froze me. At least it felt like it.”

“Well, I suppose you’ll have to sleep with it tonight, so it doesn’t get lonely,” Len smirks and turns back to the kitchen. “On the couch.”

Ray regrets his choices for about five hours - but when he wakes up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and hears Len scream about aliens wandering into his bed, he can’t help but feel that maybe, this is the start of a beautiful family.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit on [tumblr.](http://pheuthe.tumblr.com/)


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